whom feeling had become still more numbed by
the consciousness of his approaching fate. He
had passed a good night, and had freely
partaken of that hearty breakfast which, strangely
enough, all such felons do partake of for their
last. The governor of the gaol entered to bid
him farewell and to introduce the Sheriff. Giles
shook hands with both, he stolid and emotionless.
There was a little pause. They expected
some one else. It was the only time Giles
showed any feeling at all. He stopped shaking
and looked furtively but eagerly towards the
door. Even that was only the emotion of
impatience. Calcraft entered. A mild gentle faced
man—short, rather stout, with plentiful grey
hair. I can see him as I write—his eyes full
and grey, though small, and sweet in their
expression. He does not "shamble," as he walks;
nor does he talk coarsely. He walks softly
at such times, as in the presence of impending
death, and his voice is by no means unpleasant.
His walk, his voice, his expression, and his
manner, are in fact, completely reassuring.
They were so to Giles. Having been introduced
to his executioner and seen the calm self-reliant
look of his eyes, Giles became perfectly calm,
and resumed the monotonous shaking of his
head from side to side. I can testify that
whether from age or mental stupor he was the
least affected of us all; and I am told this is
usually the case.

Half-past seven o'clock struck, and the prison
bell broke out in a harshly solemn toll. While
we were getting ready to leave the cell it began
—Toll! As we walked along the corridors it
went on—Toll! It struck upon all our hearts
—Toll! except Giles's.

Having entered the pinioning-room the
chaplain began the solemn service for the dead. " I
am the Resurrection and the Life "—Toll!
"Whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall
never die "—Toll!

Calcraft produced a small black leather
portmanteau. Opening it, he disclosed his pinions,
spare straps, and two ropes. The pinion is
simply a broad leather strap or surcingle to go
round the waist, having strong loops on either
side, through which are passed the straps to
secure the elbows. The wrists are then fastened
by another strap.

"It's my own invention," Calcraft whispered
with some modesty; "the old pinions used to
be very bad, they hurt the poor fellows so. They
used to strap their elbows tight behind them
and force them together at the back, and then
strap the two wrists together. This waist strap
answers every purpose and is not the least
uncomfortable."

"There," he whispered to Giles (for the
chaplain still read on), when he had arranged
the straps, "that doesn't hurt you, my good
fellow?"

"No, sir; it's very comfortable."

And the chaplain still read on, and the bell
broke in like a solemn amen. "For since by
man came death—" Toll!

"Shake hands with me, Giles," said the mild
man with the grey hair; "say you forgive me.
You shall not be tortured."

"I forgive thee, mister;" and he offered his
poor pinioned hands, like fins, which Calcraft
shook kindly. Toll!

"There's one thing I should like 'ee to do,"
said Giles.

"Yes," said Calcraft.

"Will 'ee tell I when it's comin'. Thee know
what I mean."

"I will," returned the executioner. Toll!

The "Lesson" was not yet finished. No one
of us paid attention to it, or to any of that part
of the service (least of all did Giles), save when
the bell struck out like a solemn voice from the
sky; "Heed that!" Then we remembered
the word or two that had gone before. To
me the reading of the clergyman sounded like
the babble of a dream, and the bell, and the
gentle old man, and the pinioned murderer the
only realities. (Toll! "And how are the dead
raised up?")

I saw Calcraft return to his black portmanteau
to select the rope. Intent, against my
will, more on the details of the dreadful tragedy
than on the service, that only broke out on me
in snatches, I pointed to the cord, aud whispered,

"New?"

"Oh, no; the same I've used these three
years." (" Changed as in a moment." Toll!)

"I thought you always had a new rope?"

"Oh dear, no."

"Is it silk?" I had heard so.

"No; the very best of hemp."

He gave it into my hand. A supple cord,
soft as silk, as thick as my forefinger. (" Oh!
grave, where is thy victory?" Toll!)

"And the cap?"

"Ah, yes! It's the sheriffs'—the one they
use here—but it's a bad one. I would rather
use my own. Look here"—and he took from
the portmanteau a small bag, like silk, and
inserting his hands in it, stretched it out to an
enormous size—" that's the one, if they would
only let me use it." It was the only professional
remark he made.

The lesson was done. Toll! Toll! Toll!

The bell ceased. It was the service by the
grave side.

We joined in procession. "Man that is born
of woman hath but a short time to live, and is
full of misery." Chanting this solemn dirge in
monotone, the chaplain led the way along the
passage and up a ladder staircase to the prison
roof. Giles followed, shambling uneasily from
the straps about his legs, but otherwise in less
outward concern than any of us. He seemed
to derive relief from that palsied swaying of his
head which was natural to him.

As we mounted the scaffold, a restless murmur,
like a great sigh, went through the sea of white
upturned faces below—then a hush. Calcraft
came to the poor culprit, and drew the cap
over his face, to hide the sea of faces from his
eyes. Then he fixed the rope—with long pains
to arrange the knot in the most merciful place,